


A Home In Heather

by VerdantVulpus



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: ASMR, Fluff, Guess The Author, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Laundry, M/M, Shirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29681316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantVulpus/pseuds/VerdantVulpus
Summary: Crowley has always had one of two modes. High alert, or dead asleep. He liked to pretend to be nonchalant and chill, but the act was only ever for show. A demon had to be ready to defend himself (and his angel) at a moment's notice. It was never safe. That's the way of it, and Crowley was doing just fine.Fast forward to some odd number of years post-Armageddon. a charmingly mundane sight abruptly exposes what the demon had been missing for eons, and the fact that hewasn'tmissing it anymore.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 73
Collections: Guess the Author: Round 2





	A Home In Heather

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Shirt."

Falling from grace meant never coming home again. As it happened, Crowley had been fine with that, and had actively avoided the very concept of home since his first bite of sulphur. Comfort was a deathtrap, for demons. Comfort led to complacency, and the demon who let his guard down would inevitably regret it.

Crowley had rented and owned spaces aplenty over the years, but all of them were intentionally uncomfortable. None were home.

Even Crowley's sartorial choices had revolved around sleek fashion rather than comfort. He liked looking good, but couldn't risk even being at home in his own skin. 

He had to be ready for  _ anything _ . He had to keep his eyes open. 

That was just the way of things, or so he thought until he stepped outside, eyes open and alert as ever, and saw the shirt.

A simple heather grey t-shirt like the ones he'd summoned to wear thousands of times, but this one was human made, bought in a shop. It hadn't been snapped away after wearing, but pulled over his head the night before. And now it had been washed, with _other_ _clothes_. His, and his angel's.

Crowley closed his eyes and after a fluttery fearful moment, let down his guard and let in the world.

He heard the soughing of wind though the leaves and tall grasses, the birdsong, the faint music from the windchimes out front.

He tasted the tannins of black tea and lemon still on his tongue. 

He smelled the distant sea brine and the sun-warm heather. The freshly tilled soil from the new garden (some still under his fingernails). 

He felt the sun on his face and the breeze in his hair and his husband's fingers tracing the freckles on his skin. 

He opened his eyes again and watched the t-shirt gently flapping in the warm breeze as it dried on the line.

Aziraphale had done the laundry. He'd hung Crowley's shirt on the line to dry, and he’d done this because they had a clothesline.

They had a clothesline! A clothesline in their garden behind their cottage. Their comfortable little space full of heather and soil and laundry and love. A space for Aziraphale and a space for Crowley too, and a space for them both together. A cottage. With large windows that drank in the sunlight and a garden freshly planted around their little patio where they sipped tea in the afternoon. Now there was a clothesline, catching the spring breeze off the sea, stretching from their fence to the pear tree.

Crowley closed his eyes again, turning into the comfort of his angel's sweet kiss.

A demon, it turns out,  _ can _ come home.

  
  



End file.
